


Life Won't Wait

by whoknows



Series: PA [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:37:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3227777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoknows/pseuds/whoknows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not until the third attempt goes terribly, horribly wrong that Harry realizes Louis is doing it on purpose.</p>
<p>All he can do is sit back in his chair, narrow his eyes, and watch as Louis pats the waiter on the back pseudo-helpfully, pretending like he’s actually doing something that makes up for the fact that he just deliberately tripped a waiter at one of the poshest restaurants in London and caused pasta to be spilled all over the place <i>better</i>. Like a pat on the back could make all of that better.</p>
<p>Ten minutes later, they exit the restaurant with absolutely no grace. Harry lets Louis tug him along, shielding him from the worst of the paps, but he doesn’t let up on the glare he’s got going on, directed at Louis’ back.</p>
<p>The gossip rags will all be screaming with headlines about how they’ve finally broken up for good, but it doesn’t matter right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Won't Wait

**Author's Note:**

> How did this get so long, you ask? I have no idea, I answer!

It’s not until the third attempt goes terribly, horribly wrong that Harry realizes Louis is doing it on purpose.

All he can do is sit back in his chair, narrow his eyes, and watch as Louis pats the waiter on the back pseudo-helpfully, pretending like he’s actually doing something that makes up for the fact that he just deliberately tripped a waiter at one of the poshest restaurants in London and caused pasta to be spilled all over the place _better_. Like a pat on the back could make all of that better.

Ten minutes later, they exit the restaurant with absolutely no grace. Harry lets Louis tug him along, shielding him from the worst of the paps, but he doesn’t let up on the glare he’s got going on, directed at Louis’ back.

The gossip rags will all be screaming with headlines about how they’ve finally broken up for good, but it doesn’t matter right now. 

He’s figured this shit out.

 

Of course, just because he’s figured it out doesn’t mean that he can just come straight out and _confront_ Louis about it. Louis doesn’t deal well with confrontation - by which Harry means that he either manages to change the topic so well that Harry forgets what they were supposed to be talking about in the first place, or he starts a completely unrelated fight.

And Harry doesn’t mind that about him, honestly, but it can make it a little hard when he’s trying to get something accomplished. They’re pretty fucking good at communicating, anyway. It’s not like Louis to avoid something that they need to talk about - he’s usually the person who forces Harry to talk about something when he doesn’t want to - so this isn’t Louis trying to avoid the question. This is something else, even though Harry can’t quite figure out what it is.

So the next attempt isn’t really that well thought out, and he’s mainly trying to validate his own line of thinking.

 

Louis is clicking listlessly through the channels on the telly, trying to find something to watch. He’s a warm, heavy weight against Harry’s shoulder, hair tickling the underside of Harry’s jaw. He’s wearing his softest, more comfortable sweats, and this definitely isn’t the proposal that Harry’s been thinking about.

He’s pretty confident that Louis won’t actually let him finish, so he slips off of the couch and onto one knee in front of him.

Louis just looks at him. “What’re you doing?”

“Louis William Tomlinson,” Harry begins, pulling the ring box out from where he’d stashed it underneath the sofa earlier. 

“No!” Louis yelps, slamming his foot into Harry’s chest. It’s probably the one thing Harry wasn’t expecting him to do, so he goes tumbling backwards onto his arse, eyes wide and shocked.

They’re so lucky that they don’t have a table there anymore.

“The fuck,” Harry croaks, blinking up at the ceiling. Only for a second, though, because Louis launches himself on top of him, slapping at as much of Harry’s body as he can reach.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Louis hisses, slapping Harry right in the dick. Harry groans and makes to grab Louis’ hands, half expecting Louis to let him catch them.

Louis wouldn’t be Louis if he did, though, so Harry doubles his efforts, wincing when Louis catches him in the dick again, and not in a good way.

Enough is enough when Louis goes for his face, sharp and stinging against Harry’s skin, hard enough that his cheek will be pink for a couple of minutes.

“You fucking - ” Harry starts, finally getting a hold of one of Louis’ wrists. Louis stills completely, so suddenly that Harry doesn’t even try to catch his other wrist.

“Fuck me,” Louis says abruptly, using his free hand to reach behind him and grab for Harry’s cock, nicely this time.

Really fucking nicely, actually, rubbing firmly over his jeans the way Harry likes.

It’s obviously a distraction, and Harry is torn for a minute with how much he wants to allow himself to be distracted. “I’m not going to fuck you.”

“Really?” Louis asks, arching an eyebrow. He lets go of Harry’s cock in favour of grinding down on him, all heavy pressure exactly where Harry wants it the most. “You’re not gonna fuck me?” He keeps moving his hips in tight, even circles, and it only takes a few seconds to have Harry gritting his teeth and curling his fingers into his palms from how much he wants to.

How much he wants to open Louis up right here, in their living room, and roll him over and fuck him into the floor, until he’s a panting, squirming mess on Harry’s cock and he’d agree to anything Harry asks him.

That’s not going to accomplish what Harry wants, though, so he manages to shake his head, keeping his hands pinned to the floor with sheer determination. “I’m not gonna fuck you.”

Louis keeps moving, flicking his hair off of his forehead. Harry will never get over just how good he looks in this position. “No? Haven’t I been good enough?”

Harry laughs, unable to stop himself from putting his hands on Louis’ thighs. “There’s no world in which you’ve been good enough.”

“So you’re telling me that we’re not gonna fuck, no matter how long I do this for?” Louis twists his hips the way he does when he wants to push Harry over the edge, tight and grinding, and there’s no physical way that Harry can take any more of this, not with the way his cock is pressing up against the seam of his jeans, hot and heavy.

“We’re not gonna fuck,” Harry agrees, using the tiny bit of leverage he has to flip them over, cradling Louis’ back so he doesn’t hit the ground too hard.

Louis gasps, more out of shock than anything. “Really?”

“Really,” Harry confirms, kissing Louis’ smile right off of his face. “You’re never as good as you think you are.”

“If I’m not,” Louis asks, arching up into Harry’s hands as he bites down pseudo-gently on Louis’ throat, “then what are you still doing with me?”

Marking Louis’ skin is never particularly hard, no matter how tan he happens to be at the moment, and every time Harry looks at it afterwards he’s assaulted with memories of exactly how he made that mark. This time is going to be no different, sucking at Louis’ throat until Louis is whimpering and tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair, rubbing restlessly over his scalp.

“It’s one of the things I love most about you,” Harry says, making sure to sink his teeth in one last time before he starts moving down, using a fair amount of pressure just for the way Louis goes breathless. “Even though you’re being a prick about this.”

He stops at a nipple, catching it between his teeth and biting down gently. It takes a minute, because Louis is particularly weak for having his nipples played with, but his response comes eventually.

“A little,” he agrees, just the tiniest bit brokenly, “but you’re gonna love the way it turns out.”

There’s so much faith in the way he says it, like he’s absolutely certain of it, that Harry believes him. Of course, Harry would probably believe him if he said it while laughing hysterically, so that’s not really saying much. Louis says things all the time - things he doesn’t mean, things purely because he’ll know they’ll annoy Harry, random things, things he doesn’t care about, things just so Harry will pay attention to him, things that are unintentionally sincere.

Harry can always tell what he means underneath all of that, even if he’s not saying it, but all of that experience doesn’t mean anything right now, not when Louis means what he says.

He does things that Harry doesn’t understand, too, things that don’t even make sense months down the line, and Harry doesn’t even care if this is one of those things, because this isn’t Louis saying no. This is Louis saying _this isn’t the way it’s gonna get done_.

Harry can wait. For a little bit, at least.

It’s still not a good idea to let Louis think that he’s won, though, so they won’t be fucking tonight. Harry doesn’t reward proposal interruptions with fucking.

“Okay,” Harry says, and hooks his fingers underneath the waist of Louis’ sweats. “We still aren’t going to fuck.”

“No?” Louis asks, lifting his hips and letting Harry ease his trackies all the way down his legs. They get a little tangled around his ankles, mostly because Harry’s still in between his legs, but between the two of them they manage to get them off.

He’s not wearing anything underneath, so his cock springs out nice and hard, a little bit wet at the tip already. “Little bit presumptuous of you, don’t you think?” Harry asks, scraping his teeth over Louis’ hipbone.

“Presumptuous to think that I might get laid in my own house?” Louis asks. Harry can hear the faux-scorn in his voice, and it’s soothing, it is, but his heart is beating a little faster just from hearing Louis say the words _my own house_. My own house. My own house.

My own house that they live in together that’s filled with things they both like and some stuff of Louis’ that Harry hates and that stupid plant that they can never manage to remember to water.

“Does something for you, doesn’t it?” Louis muses, stroking his fingers over Harry’s cheekbone.

“You fucking know it,” Harry mutters, gripping Louis’ thighs and leaning back so he has enough space before he flips him, nearly catching a toe in the eye.

It was probably on purpose.

“Ooh, is it time for sexy bum stuff?” Louis asks mockingly, wiggling his arse right in Harry’s face, all smooth, tempting skin.

Harry bites him.

“Fuck,” Louis yelps, half laughing as he tries to squirm away, elbows underneath his torso. Harry isn’t having any of that, though, not with the best arse he’s ever seen right in his face, so he bites him again, and again, until Louis is breathless with laughter and laying slumped against the floor, putty in Harry’s hands.

“I love you very much a lot,” Harry whispers, stroking over the places he’s bitten gently. It’s probably not doing anything to soothe the ache, but that’s not the point.

“Enough to get me off?” Louis asks, like that’s even a real question. Like Harry wouldn’t get him off ten times a day if that’s what he wanted.

“Well, if I thought I could spend any length of time eating you out without you getting yourself off I might try,” Harry says, dipping a couple of fingers in between Louis’ arse cheeks, stroking down his skin, over his hole and then back up again.

Louis gets a little boneless, the way he does when he’s ready to let Harry take over and only complain about it a little, and Harry loves it when that happens, so he presses a sweet little kiss to the curve of Louis’ spine, just above his bum, and spreads him open.

He makes a noise that goes straight to Harry’s cock, the pretty little minx, before Harry’s even started licking him, and he knows _exactly_ what those type of noises do to Harry. The only reasonable response to that type of warfare is to attempt to best him, licking him with intent.

The intention of getting him off as quickly as humanly possible, that is.

It’s always easier said than done, ignoring how Louis sounds when he’s getting eaten out, but Harry manages it for all of two minutes, holding Louis’ bum cheeks apart and licking into him leisurely, making it as good for him as possible. It doesn’t take long before Louis’ noises become something beyond whimpery, the way he sounds when he wants to come, and his squirming is only so he can get a hand underneath himself and grab at his cock.

One of these days Harry will actually stop him and see what happens. Today isn’t that day, though, so he lets his teeth scrape over Louis’ skin gently and listens to him make noises that vaguely sound like Harry’s name.

“My beautiful boy,” Harry croons, spreading Louis apart with his thumbs so he can slip his tongue inside. It almost feels like he’s drunk - drunk on gorgeous arse. Is that a thing? It’s probably a thing. If it’s not a thing it’s only because people haven’t been paying enough attention to this beautiful bum, wiggling on Harry’s tongue.

“Okay,” Louis agrees mindlessly. From this angle, Harry can feel his wrist working as he strokes his cock, fast and sure. It’s faster than Harry would be doing it if it was him, but if it was him he probably wouldn’t have even started jerking Louis off yet, so.

Harry likes it when Louis comes untouched, alright. 

It only takes another three licks before Louis starts coming, clenching down on Harry’s tongue, gasping into his arm. He feels a little slick, sweaty, as Harry pets him through it with fingers gentle on the curve of his back, his sides, his hips. He doesn’t stop licking until Louis’ breathing has mostly gone back to normal, thighs shaking underneath Harry’s hands.

His mouth is a little sore, tender, when he sits up. It’s a feeling that he lives for.

His fingers are working on autopilot as he undoes his own jeans and shoves them down to his thighs, not even bothering to stand up so he can get them all the way off. Why would he need to do that when it’s going to take less than two minutes of jerking off with this gorgeous picture in front of him to get off?

“Don’t come on me,” Louis mumbles, folding his other arm underneath his head and burying his face into it.

“Kay,” Harry says, wrapping his fist around his cock and pulling himself off evenly. The sound is loud in the room, only spit slicking the way. There’s probably still lube underneath the couch from the last time they had sex in here, but Harry can’t be bothered to find it, not when he’s this close.

Louis starts moving before Harry’s ready, pushing himself up onto his knees. His head doesn’t leave his arms, and Harry can’t breathe, can’t tear his eyes away from the view his boy’s presenting him with. “Okay, you can come on me.”

Harry manages to choke out, “Where?” as Louis arches his back, putting his arse even more on display. He doesn’t think he can be blamed for his lack of eloquence, not when Louis looks how he looks.

“Anywhere,” Louis says. “Everywhere.”

“How’d I get so lucky to land myself a boy like you,” Harry manages, twisting his wrist and tightening his grip just a little, doing it the way Louis would do it. He’s close - his orgasm is building in his belly, and it’s not going to take him much longer to come.

“Wasn’t luck,” Louis says, swaying his bum a little, as if he thinks that Harry’s attention is going to be anywhere _but_ there right now. “Looked up how much you make in a year and decided that you were worth putting up with.”

Harry makes a faint noise of agreement and shuffles forward a couple of inches, until he can rub his cock on Louis’ bum instead. That feels so much nicer than Harry’s hand, so he keeps doing it, thrusting aimlessly against Louis’ skin, curving down around Louis’ back because they just fit so nicely together, and maybe Louis can be persuaded to give him a kiss.

Turns out Louis _can_ be persuaded to give him a kiss, and that it doesn’t even take any effort on Harry’s part. The second he puts his mouth close enough Louis is straining up, trying to get closer, and then they’re kissing while Harry fucks his orgasm out onto Louis’ skin, smearing come all over Louis’ back, onto his arse, hopefully in between his cheeks so Harry will be able to finger him with it a little.

Louis barely even waits for him to finish coming before he’s slumping back down to the floor, burying his face back into his arms. “You’re gonna have to carry me to the bedroom.”

“Or I could just leave you here,” Harry points out, dragging his fingers across the back of Louis’ neck. In a minute he’ll lean back and admire his work, but for now this is good.

“Well, I guess you don’t care about ever getting laid again, then,” Louis says haughtily, curling his calves around Harry’s the best that he can. There’s bound to be come drying on the floor as they speak, and Louis always claims that he hates when it just gets left there. He’s not going to be the one who eventually cleans it up, though, even though it’s technically his mess, so Harry’s content to leave it.

Harry hums against the back of Louis’ neck, skin soft and baby fine. He could probably be convinced to go another round, but Louis seems sleepy, now. “Love fucking you.”

Louis wiggles a little, the way that he knows Harry likes feeling against his cock. “Love it when you fuck me.”

“Just love you in general,” Harry says quietly, looping his arms around Louis’ chest. It only works for a couple of seconds before Louis is wiggling around, turning over in Harry’s arms. He doesn’t make Harry let him go while he does it, which means that he wants to be cuddled some more.

Harry can _definitely_ do that.

“Love you too,” Louis says, just as quietly, fingers gentle on Harry’s face as they kiss again, soft and sweet, and this is exactly the type of sappy relationship type stuff that Louis only lets him get away with out of the sight of other people - not including the boys. Sometimes he’ll indulge Harry’s need for sappy relationship time in front of the boys and tell them off when they make jokes about it without even the slightest hint of a blush on his face.

Harry wouldn’t have him any other way.

“I know you do,” Harry tells him, unable to stop himself from touching Louis all over his belly, still slick with his come, smeared it into his skin.

He does know that Louis loves him, is the thing. It’s something that he doesn’t doubt, never doubts, how much Louis loves him, the sacrifices he’s made for him. Their relationship has never been particularly hard, and that’s mainly due to Louis’ ability to take things in stride, but they’ve had their fair share of hiccups.

Harry’s never been more sure of anything than he is of this boy, that he wants to spend the rest of his life with this boy. That this boy is the one for him.

That this boy is going to arbitrarily screw up Harry’s attempts to propose to him until he deems it appropriate to let him get on with it, and that does exactly zero to deter Harry from wanting to keep trying, over and over again, until he gets it right.

“Okay,” Louis says eventually, slapping at Harry’s back a couple of times, “time to go upstairs.”

“You gonna walk?” Harry asks, pushing himself up onto his knees.

Fuck if Louis isn’t the most gorgeous thing he’s ever seen, lying all splayed out like that, practically on display.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “I think that we both know that I’m not gonna walk.”

“And supposing that I refuse to carry you?” Harry asks.

“Like you’re gonna give up the opportunity to carry me around when I’m still covered in your come,” Louis scoffs. “I know what you like.”

Harry does like that. “Don’t be a prick and try to squirm your way out of my arms,” he warns, slipping one arm underneath Louis’ knees and the other under his back. Louis locks his arms around Harry’s neck, and it’s never been easier to pick him up then it is right now.

Post-sex endorphins, man. They’re the best.

“I would never,” Louis denies. Even if Harry didn’t know from previous experience that Louis likes to do exactly that, the way he’s smiling would definitely give him away.

“Don’t do it,” Harry warns again, and it must be his lucky day, because Louis waits until he’s made up all the way up the stairs before squirming out of his arms, taking off towards the bedroom.

The only reasonable response is to chase after him, pin him down to the bed and snog him some more, so that’s what Harry does.

 

Attempt number five goes something like this:

They’re sitting backstage at a show in London, and Harry’s been watching Louis terrorize Paul for the past half hour, like he isn’t the one who keeps Louis from being lost in a swarm of screaming fans whenever they go out in a place that’s too populated.

Harry still doesn’t understand why Louis doesn’t just let him get him a security man of his own. God only knows how difficult it must be to keep track of Harry, sometimes, much less when he has Louis in his ear trying to talk him into sneaking off. He must make Paul’s job so difficult.

Paul doesn’t worry about Louis the way Harry does, though, which Harry supposes is fair. Everyone seems to think that Louis is perfectly capable of taking care of himself just because he likes to go around slapping people.

The way Harry comes back to empty take-out boxes scattered all over the floor whenever he goes away for a few days says different.

Unwillingness to feed himself properly if Harry’s not there to nag him into it non-withstanding, he is pretty capable of ducking his way out of a crowd, Harry supposes. He just worries because Louis is so tiny and pretty and he can’t see how everyone doesn’t wanna have him for themselves.

Harry has him, though, and he plans to have him for the rest of his life, and every time he thinks about having Louis for the rest of his life he wants to get down on his knees.

Only partially for sex, too, that’s how much Harry wants to marry him.

This particular plan is about as well thought out as the last one, and Harry doesn’t even have the ring on him. He has the silver one that he wears on his middle finger, though, the one that Louis always twists around when they’re holding hands, just lying in bed watching telly, and that one will do the trick in a pinch. It’s probably gonna be too big - it is too big, actually, and Harry knows that from the amount of times Louis has pulled it off of his finger only to put it on his own - but the thought of seeing it on the right finger, even if it’s the wrong ring, makes Harry’s heart beat a little faster.

Louis only slaps him once when Harry starts kissing him, which means that he doesn’t actually mind, so for a minute Harry gets lost in it, how Louis tastes like tea, the smell of him, a little sweaty and wearing Harry’s deodorant because he’s lost his own, the way he lets Harry take his hand.

The way he nearly breaks Harry’s wrist when Harry tries to shove the ring onto his finger.

“You fucker,” Louis shouts, trying to break out of Harry’s hold. He succeeds with an elbow to Harry’s ribs, used with enough force that it actually hurts for a few seconds.

Harry’s moving before he can think it through, trying to catch Louis and still him long enough that he can shove the ring onto his finger. Catching him is successful, but Louis always fights dirty, using every weapon in his arsenal and swearing even as they go tumbling down to the ground.

“Fucking piece of - ” Louis hisses, trying to squirm his way out from underneath Harry’s body. Harry has tons of practical experience with keeping him there, though, so he manages, trying to jerk Louis’ hand out from underneath his belly.

The way Louis goes limp all at once should tell Harry that he has something up his sleeve, but Harry’s too concerned about trying to get the fucking ring onto Louis’ finger to worry about it.

That’s a mistake.

“Harold,” Louis says, entirely too sweetly, and something about that tone has conditioned Harry to stop and listen to him by now. It’s probably the amount of times he’s been slapped for _not_ listening to it. “You love me, yeah?”

“So much,” Harry confirms, Louis’ fingers warm in his grip. It would be easy to slip the ring down right now, off of Harry’s finger and onto Louis’.

Louis’ tone tells him exactly what a bad idea that would be, though. “And you love when I let you have sex with me?”

Mmm. Sex with Louis is the best. “Would never stop having sex with you if you were up for that.”

“Right. So believe me when I say that if you don’t let me up in the next ten seconds you’ll never get to have sex with me again.”

Harry doesn’t believe that, actually. Louis can go longer without sex than Harry can, that’s true, but only because he takes pleasure out of seeing how much Harry wants him. He’s never been able to hold off for longer than a week. Harry honestly doesn’t know how they spent so much time _not_ having sex before, not when every move Louis makes is so unconsciously sensual.

Spending the next week anticipating whatever punishment Louis comes up with isn’t exactly Harry’s idea of a fun time, though, so he lets Louis squirm out from underneath him and doesn’t even protest when Louis slaps him in the face, three times in a row.

He can admit that he deserves it.

 

Harry’s not saying that he starts doubting their relationship, because he doesn’t, not at all, but after Louis shuts down attempt number six - which was a real attempt, thank you very much. Harry cooked an awesome meal, lit some candles, and even buttoned his shirt up all the way. He made an effort, is what he’s saying, and he did it in a way that he thought Louis would appreciate.

The point is that it starts getting hard to ignore the fact that Louis is avoiding the question really neatly, so when it’s just the four of them, sitting in between interviews, Harry can’t not bring it up.

“It’s not because he doesn’t wanna marry me, right?” he asks abruptly, cutting through the rest of the chatter in the room.

The way the boys go dead quiet is very telling. Harry just isn’t sure what exactly that silence is saying.

“You don’t really think that, do you?” Zayn asks. Harry can feel his eyes on the side of his face. “You know how much he loves you.”

Harry scrubs a hand over his face. “I know he does. I’m just having a hard time not doubting that we want the same thing.”

There’s another couple of seconds of silence before Harry’s being tackled right out of his chair. He’s pretty sure that it’s Niall who lunges first, but only because the shock of blonde hair he catches out of the corner of his eye. Either way, he ends up on the bottom of a pile of limbs and body parts, being smothered to death.

“Just wait,” Liam says, repeating it a couple of times. “Just wait.”

Waiting is harder than it sounds, but Louis’ voice comes floating across the room, probably as he’s passing by or something. “Oi, if you crush my boy to death I’m gonna be forced to put Nair in all of your shampoo!”

Okay. Maybe Harry can wait a little longer

 

“Stop it, Niall,” Harry groans, elbowing him away irritably. He makes a wounded noise that Harry immediately feels sorry about, but he doesn’t stop pushing.

If Harry really wanted to he could probably dig in his heels and force Niall to stop, but then Niall might hurt his knee again and Harry would feel even worse. “Niall,” Harry tries again.

Niall doesn’t answer, shoving him through a door and cackling like the weird little kid he is, and Harry’s looking over his shoulder to complain, which is why it takes him a minute to register what’s going on.

He nearly forgets how to breathe.

He doesn’t, obviously, because that would be a very strange thing to forget, but it’s close. He stands there gaping like an idiot for at least two minutes, until Niall gets impatient and starts pushing him along again.

Harry goes, stumbling over his own feet. He can’t tear his eyes away from Louis, and he really hopes that someone is filming this, because this is everything he’s dreamed of and more, but he can’t even look at anything but Louis.

His tongue feels thick in his mouth by the time he comes to a stop in front of Louis, already reaching out to tangle their hands together. He’s seen Louis in a suit before - he’s seen Louis in a _tux_ before, dressed up to the nines at his mum’s wedding, and a suit is a suit, most of the time.

“You look gorgeous,” Harry says. Louis’ mouth quirks up into a smile, face soft and smooth. He shaved for this. _He shaved for this_.

This is so the best day of Harry’s life.

“I know,” Louis says, and it’s probably just because he knows it’ll make Harry laugh.

Harry laughs anyway.

Louis lets it go on for a minute - the two of them staring at each other like lovestruck idiots, that is - before he clears his throat impatiently. “Shouldn’t you be getting down on a knee?”

“Yes,” Harry agrees, and tips forwards instead. “I’m just gonna have a kiss, first.”

Louis’ response is lost in his mouth. Harry could kiss him forever, but he has important things to accomplish today, so he pulls away after only a couple of minutes, making sure to bite a little as he goes, just for the tiny little noise Louis makes.

He means to get down on a knee once he’s managed to pull away, but he gets stuck on Louis’ face again, on how soft he looks, vulnerable, like Harry could make him cry without even trying. 

That doesn’t even make sense, but. Louis tries not to let that look show on his face in public too often, and it’s not really that hard, because they don’t really do couple-y things in public, but it’s there and Harry’s stuck on it.

“You want me to do it?” Louis asks eventually, voice a little shaky. He wouldn’t even hesitate if Harry wanted him to do it, is the thing, and Harry’s seen comments online about how their relationship seems one-sided and how Louis is probably only in it for the money, and.

Some of Harry’s friends have made the entirely wrong assumption that Harry is more invested in this relationship than Louis is, and that Harry spoils him while Louis refuses to kiss him in public or say _I love you_.

Obviously they’re not really Harry’s friends anymore, but this moment right now, this is exactly what people don’t see. 

This is Harry’s dream proposal - lights, candles, roses and all, surrounded by their family and friends, with everyone all dressed up, and Harry knows that the only answer he’s going to get is a yes - or maybe a _fuck you, you fucking wanker, you don’t deserve all of this_ because it is Louis, after all - but his heart is still in his throat and his palms are clammy.

“I’m gonna do it,” Harry says, wiping his palms off on his trousers. Now it makes so much more sense why Niall was so insistent that he wear his good suit.

“Get to it, then, darling,” Louis says, wiggling one of his hands free and pushing on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry drops down to both knees a bit too quickly. He’ll probably have bruises in the morning, and he should have taken a couple steps back so he can see Louis’ face, but it turns out that doesn’t matter because Louis drops down to his knees in front of him, reaching for Harry’s hands like he can’t stand not to be touching right now.

“You,” Harry starts, then stops to clear his throat.

Louis’ eyes are already a little watery. “Forgot your notecards?”

“Didn’t exactly know I’d be doing this today, did I?” Harry grumbles, clasping their fingers together.

“So you’re saying that you need notecards to remember all the reasons that you love me?” Louis demands. This has already gotten a little bit out of hand. If Harry doesn’t stop it this could go on forever.

“All the reasons that I love you,” Harry says thoughtfully. “This could take a while.”

The curve of Louis’ smile has never been more rewarding. “The ones that really stand out to you, then.”

“I love your smile,” Harry starts, because that one always seems the most obvious to him, the thing that everyone loves about Louis before they even get to know him, “I love that the way you smile at me is just a little bit different than the way you smile at anyone else. I love that no matter how hard you try to convince me that you hate me the second anyone else even remotely insinuates it I have to bring you into a different room so you won’t start a fight. I love that when we have time off you spend the first two weeks hibernating in our house and saying that the only thing you want to do is sleep but you’ll still come to the shop with me.”

The urge to pull Louis into his lap is a little overwhelming. Harry does his best to ignore it. “I love that when you want to watch a superhero film you’ll pout until I watch it with you, even if it’s _Iron Man_ and we’ve watched it three times that day already. I love that you love the boys as much as I do, and that you call your mum at least once a day.”

“I love that you let me have the left side of the bed in hotel rooms, even when it means you wake up with the sun in the face because you always forget to close the curtains,” Louis says, gripping Harry’s hands entirely too tight. Harry doesn’t have it in him to care. “I love that you don’t care that sometimes I want to spend the night at Zayn’s, or that I leave you out of the things I do with Liam, or that I invite Niall to come with us on date night.”

“I _do_ care that you invite Niall on date night,” Harry mutters. 

Louis frees one of his hands long enough to pinch Harry’s side sharply. “You do not, you fucking liar. You like listening to his stories.”

He has a point. “And I love that you’ll let me turn the time we’re supposed to have together into time with the boys,” Louis continues, ducking his head like there’s still some tiny little part of him that thinks that Harry cares about that.

Like he’s forgetting that they spend twelve hours a night locked up in a hotel room together when they’re on tour, or that Harry’s right there beside him in the bed for the first two weeks after they come off tour, or that the best dates they’ve ever had were spent curled up on a couch watching a film while Louis jabbed his cold toes into Harry’s side and demanded popcorn.

They’re fucking ace at being together no matter what the circumstances are, is what Harry is trying to say.

“I want you to be happy all the time,” Harry says. It’s the truest thought he’s ever had.

“You make me happy,” Louis murmurs, twisting one of Harry’s rings around on his finger, almost as if he’s thinking about what it would look on his own finger.

The ring that Harry picked out for him isn’t too different. He knows his boy, alright, and he knows what his boy likes. It’s not a traditional looking engagement ring, but nothing about this relationship has ever been that traditional.

“You make me so happy I can’t even believe it, sometimes,” Harry says. It’s not as if Louis doesn’t know, but he believes in telling Louis as much as possible.

“I know,” Louis confirms weakly. It’s not going to take much more to get him to start crying, and maybe it’s not nice that right now that’s what Harry wants most in the world, but the idea of a perfect proposal has always involved his significant other crying.

“You remember when I told you that there was no one in the world I wanted to be committed to more?” Harry asks, rubbing his thumbs over the bones in Louis’ wrists almost obsessively.

Almost absently, he hopes that someone remembered to grab the ring. If no one remembered the ring he’s going to be really pissed.

“Yes,” Louis says, licking his bottom lip, and he doesn’t try to stop the tears from spilling out.

It probably says something that Harry’s cock takes an interest in that, in the most gorgeous boy in the world crying because Harry just makes him that happy.

It’s probably something good.

“That hasn’t changed,” Harry says, letting go of Louis’ hands so he can cup his face instead. “I have even more faith in us now, and sometimes it _does_ hurt when I look at you, especially when we’re fighting, but I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. Never been more sure that this is worth it, that you’re worth everything to me.”

For a second, it seems like Louis is the who who’s forgotten how to breathe. “Thought you were gonna use that in your vows,” he manages unevenly.

“I am,” Harry says, slipping a finger across the wetness on Louis’ cheekbone, doing a better job smearing it than drying it. He stretches one hand out behind his back, palm up, and closes his fingers around the warm metal as soon as it’s placed in his hand.

“Not that much of a sure thing,” Louis snipes weakly, eyes trained on Harry’s face, blueblueblue and still wet.

Harry’s never loved him more.

“I know,” Harry says solemnly, because he’s not stupid and he wants to have just-got-engaged sex tonight.

Louis’ tiny little smile says that he knows exactly what Harry is doing, and that he approves.

Of course he approves. Louis may know exactly how to handle Harry, but Harry also knows exactly how to handle Louis.

“Louis William Tomlinson,” Harry says, clutching the ring tightly, “Will you marry me?”

Louis is moving before he even has a chance to register it, knocking him backwards onto the grass - nearly knocking him the fuck out, actually - and climbing on top of him, smushing their mouths together in a way that isn’t even remotely sexy.

It’s the sexiest fucking thing ever.

“Took you so long, you fucking arsehole,” Louis says, biting the words into Harry’s mouth. The only reasonable response is to shove his hands up underneath Louis’ shirt and kiss him back.

It’s not exactly a yes, but god, it’s so much better than a yes.

Kissing Louis will never get old, quick clever tongue baiting Harry into kissing him back the way he likes, skin warm and smooth underneath Harry’s hands. There’ll be an indentation of the ring on Louis’ back from how hard Harry is clutching them together, and Louis will definitely complain about it, but it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters except for how his boy feels underneath his hands, how his boy tastes on his tongue, how his boy said _yes_. How his boy agreed to marry him.

The kiss ends entirely too soon. Louis pulls away, sitting up and arranging himself neatly on Harry’s hips. 

Harry loves how natural the weight of him feels.

“Gimme my ring,” he demands, slapping Harry’s shoulder. “I want my ring.”

“Who says I got you a ring?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow.

Louis raises an eyebrow right back. “If you know what’s good for you you got me a ring.”

Harry opens his hand and lets Louis take the ring, jamming it onto his own finger. It’s not exactly what he imagined in the Dream Proposal, but fuck if it isn’t ten times better.

“Like it?” Harry asks, watching Louis examine the ring from every angle.

Louis is uncharacteristically quiet. Harry’s concerned for all of zero point five seconds before he sits up and draws their faces back together, ignoring the way his fingers slip across Louis’ damp skin.

“I love you,” Harry says quietly, just for Louis to hear, pressing his face into Louis’ hair.

“I love you too,” Louis says, not bothering to keep his voice down, “and I love the ring, and I love everything. How much longer do we have to stay here?”

“What?” Harry asks stupidly, before he can think the better of it.

“I’m gonna show you how much I love it,” Louis says, tangling his fingers in Harry’s shirt. “And you know how I feel about PDA.”

Getting onto his feet without smacking Louis’ head against the ground or otherwise dropping him is more difficult than it should be, but Harry perseveres.

“Thank you all for being here,” Harry says, fitting one hand to the curve of Louis’ arse. “We love and appreciate you all, but right now we have somewhere to be.”

“ _So_ much more than I ever wanted to know,” Gemma mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear.

They exit to a chorus of only slightly mocking laughter, Louis in front, leading Harry by the hand.

Everything is exactly the way it should be.

 

“You’re so good at planning things,” Harry pants, pinning Louis up against the wall and sucking a bruise into his throat. “In the garden, fuck, so convenient.”

“And you wanted to do it in a _restaurant_ ,” Louis gasps back, tilting his head up, giving Harry more room to work with.

That’s an invitation that Harry can’t say no to, so he doubles his work, putting a little bit of teeth into it, until he has Louis arching up off of the wall, nearly sending them both tipping over. At this rate they’re not going to make it to the bedroom.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Should always listen to you,” Harry says, trying to get his fingers into Louis’ jeans. They don’t have lube here but who the fuck needs lube to get off fast and dirty like this. They don’t need lube for what Harry has in mind.

Well, lube would be helpful, actually, but it’s not actually necessary.

“That’s what I’ve been _telling_ you,” Louis says, stripping his shirt over his head and wiggling his hips helpfully, until he can kick his trousers and pants off, leaving him standing completely naked, save for his socks.

All Harry can manage is to get his own trousers open and pushed down enough that he can get his cock out, already so hard that it’ll probably only take a few strokes to get himself off. 

“Gonna start listening to you from now on,” Harry says, kissing the corner of Louis’ mouth and half watching as Louis takes both of their cocks in his hand and starts jerking them off together, fingers unable to close.

It’s one of the prettiest things Harry has ever seen. It’s also bound to make Louis huffy within two minutes if Harry doesn’t help him, so he wraps his own hand around their cocks, fingers overlapping Louis’, and speeds up the rhythm, swallowing Louis’ noises with his tongue.

“Your shirt’s itchy,” Louis murmurs, bringing his other hand up to grip Harry’s bicep, tipping his head back so Harry has room to mouth along his jawline.

“You like it,” Harry answers, concentrating on stroking the way Louis likes, keeping his grip nice and firm. He doesn’t doubt that Louis does actually like it, the way it scratches against him gently, his bare skin. He likes it when they get off like this, with Harry still wearing most of his clothes while Louis is naked, even if he’d never admit it out loud. It feels awesome for Harry, this tiny boy of his between him and the wall with nowhere to go, nowhere that he wants to go.

It definitely makes for slightly sweatier sex, though, and Harry’s going to need a shower after this, but so is Louis. Probably more than Harry will, if Harry has his way.

Seeing Louis covered in come is one of his favourite things.

“A little,” Louis says, and it takes Harry a minute to figure out what Louis is even talking about, he’s so distracted by the way he feels, Louis’ cock rubbing against his own, their fingers sliding up and down.

He needs Louis to come so he can.

“I know,” Harry says, melding their mouths together again, just for a couple of kisses. “I know because I know you and I love you and we’re gonna get married.”

“I’m gonna be your _spouse_ ,” Louis agrees brokenly, gripping Harry’s arm so tight he’ll probably have bruises.

Harry couldn’t care less. “You’re gonna be my spouse,” he echoes, jerking them off a little faster. “You gonna come?”

“Yeah,” Louis sighs, fingers going lax, letting Harry do all the work. He’s gone boneless in the way that means his orgasm is imminent. Harry works a little harder, pressing Louis into the wall with his entire body, pinning him there while he gets him off, mouth against Louis’ throat until he starts coming, warm and slick all over Harry’s fist. 

“Fucking gorgeous,” Harry says, not relinquishing his grip for even a second as he works to get himself off next, the tiniest bit of attention focused on keeping Louis standing.

“We’re engaged,” Louis says. He sounds a little bit shocked, even though he’s the one who orchestrated the entire thing and he really shouldn’t be. Harry’s been saying that he’s going to marry Louis for so long that the boys have a running joke about it.

The joke isn’t actually funny, but that’s beyond the point.

“We’re engaged,” Harry echoes dreamily, working his cock a little faster. Louis makes a quiet noise like he’s about to tell Harry to let him go, and that is so not happening while they’re having just got engaged sex, so he bites at Louis’ mouth and comes, shuddering through it into Louis’ skin.

There’s quiet for a couple of minutes, while Harry gets his breath back. Quiet only ever lasts so long with Louis, though, same with stillness, so before long Louis is wiggling again and trying to get Harry to move back. Harry is very resistant to the idea - mainly because he just finished having sex with his _fiancé_.

His fiancé.

“Harry,” Louis shouts eventually, shoving at Harry’s shoulders. It would have nearly split Harry’s eardrums if he wasn’t used to it.

“It’s cuddling time,” Harry mumbles, trying to ease Louis back against the wall gently enough that he won’t complain about Harry manhandling him.

Louis wraps both arms around Harry’s neck, hanging off of him with ease. “We just got engaged.”

Harry links his hands against the small of Louis’ back, keeping them pressed up close together, just the way he likes it. The way they both like it, at least when Louis isn’t hyped up on caffeine and feeling the need to destroy all of Liam’s stuff. “We did just get engaged.”

“You know what happens when you just get engaged?” Louis asks, raising his eyebrows.

Harry totally knows where he’s going with this, so he swipes a couple of fingers up Louis’ belly pointedly, smearing come along his skin. “Sex.”

“Sex,” Louis confirms. “Lots of sex. More than one round of sex. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

Harry’s mouth is a little dry from seeing where Louis is going with this. “Race you to the bedroom?”

“We’re not five years old, Harold, we’re not gonna race to the bedroom,” Louis says disdainfully, eyes flicking down Harry’s face.

“We’re not?” Harry asks, and regrets the question the second that it leaves his mouth.

Louis slaps him in the dick hard enough that Harry crumples against the wall, letting Louis escape from his hold. “We’re not, because it’s gonna take you at least two minutes to get over that.”

And fuck if Louis isn’t right.

 

“Oh thank god,” Harry says, making a beeline for Louis, wandering in his general direction with a big, fluffy parka in his hands. The camera hasn’t even finished rolling, but if he has to stand here in this cold like this for another thirty seconds he might actually scream.

He practically rips the jacket out of Louis’ hands and puts it on, already ten times warmer than he was before.

Louis watches him with a raised eyebrow. “Poor little baby cold?” he mocks.

“ _So_ cold,” Harry agrees miserably, bundling Louis close, just so he can wrap his arms around his back underneath his jacket and steal his body heat.

“My cold little darling,” Louis coos, flipping both of their hoods up over their heads so it’s like a nice warm little tent. It’d be perfect if it wasn’t for the fact that Harry feels like he’s going to fall flat on his face.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Can we like, sit down?”

Louis makes a noise that sounds like an agreement, and they’re moving, somehow, like Louis knows where they’re going. It might seem more like he did if Harry didn’t hit something and nearly topple over, clutching onto Louis like that’s going to stop his fall.

They make it into a seated position, kind of miraculously. Or maybe Louis can just see where they’re going, Harry doesn’t really know. Either way, the bench that they’re sitting on is doing nothing to keep Harry upright, and honestly upright is too hard of a position to withhold right now, so he slumps down little by little, until his head’s in Louis’ lap and his legs are up, curling in on himself, trying to keep warm.

“Hey,” Louis says softly, putting his hand on the top of Harry’s head. “Only a couple more takes and then we can get home, alright?”

Home means a hotel room, right now, and while that’s never ideal Harry’ll take it. Anything is better than sitting around in this weather. “Yeah.”

Louis fidgets a little. “You want tea?” He makes an aborted motion, as if he’s going to get up. 

Harry doesn’t move. “No, just - sit still, okay?”

“Okay,” Louis says, and goes back to stroking Harry’s hair. Harry can feel the edges of his ring against his scalp, and it sends dull frissons of satisfaction through his entire body. It feels nice, and even though Harry’s still freezing his bloody arse off, he manages to fall asleep, wind still whipping around them.

 

It’s no surprise to anyone when he wakes up with a terrible cold the next day. It’s even less of a surprise that Louis comes down with it a couple of days later.

 

The best man issue doesn’t come up until they’re already two months into planning the wedding, and for some reason Harry mentions that Niall’s going to be his, just off hand and completely casually.

Louis stares at him blankly. “Um, no. Niall’s my best man.”

Okay. Harry can work with that. It’s not like it makes any real difference, anyway. “Okay, Liam, then.”

“Liam’s also my best man,” Louis says, folding his arms across his chest. “So is Zayn.”

How did Harry not see this coming. Honestly. “You can’t have all of them as your best man.”

“They’re all my best men,” Louis insists, pushing himself up onto his tiptoes like that’s going to make any difference whatsoever, like that extra couple of inches in Harry’s face is going to scare him off.

If Harry didn’t like having Louis in his face all the time they never would have made it this far, so it’s not really a deterrent. He grabs Louis by the arms, mainly so he doesn’t topple over and then somehow attribute that to being Harry’s fault and add another ten slaps to the tally board. That’s the last thing that Harry needs. He’s already at a record high due to all the things that Louis has arbitrarily decided to punish him for.

Wedding planning, man. It’s stressful.

“You can’t have all of them, Lou,” Harry says reasonably.

Reasonably has never worked that well with Louis. “They’re mine.”

“Louis,” Harry says. He can’t quite keep the exasperation out of his voice - not that he’s really trying that hard.

“Harry,” Louis mimics. “You know this is going to go better for you if you just give in now.”

It would be interesting to see what Louis would do if Harry picked him up right now. Chances are there would be at least two slaps. 

Sometimes the benefits outweigh the risks, though, so Harry lifts him up off of his toes completely, crushing them together with his arms wrapped around the small of Louis’ back. It’s got the added benefit of keeping Louis’ arms pinned to his sides, so it means that he can’t even hand out any slaps.

Win.

“You can’t have all of my best friends,” Harry says, swinging them around just enough that Louis can’t break free.

“They’re my best friends too, dickwad, I can’t be expected to pick one,” Louis shouts, using the volume to make up for the fact that Harry’s got him pinned.

“So why would you expect me to be able to pick one?” Harry demands.

Louis slumps in his arms, going completely boneless. Harry hefts him a little higher. “Fuck you.”

Probably Louis won’t slap him as soon as his grip loosens, so Harry hauls them over to the sofa and sits down, falling the last couple of inches. Louis curls up immediately, drawing his feet up onto the cushion and laying his head down on Harry’s chest.

For a second, Harry wonders whether they should move to the bedroom, if this is going to be a conversation that requires the use of their Serious Discussion place.

“I guess all of them will have to be both of our best men,” Louis says, so they really don’t. This is a couch conversation after all.

“Will that even work?” Harry wonders. Louis mumbles something unintelligibly into his chest and curls his arms around Harry’s back. “It’ll work,” Harry decides, letting Louis worm himself into a comfortable position.

“We’ll figure it out,” Louis promises sleepily, mouthing idly at Harry’s chest. It feels really nice. It would feel even nicer if Louis wasn’t doing it because he’s gearing up to bite really hard.

“Ow,” Harry complains mildly, scritching his fingers through Louis’ hair. He’s probably going to get a bruise from how many times Louis has bitten him in that exact spot over the past eight hours.

He’s not complaining.

“That’s what you _deserve_ ,” Louis mumbles nonsensically. He’s well past the point of making any sense, half asleep on Harry’s lap. It’s one of Harry’s favourite things, the way Louis will shove him down and then curl up for a nap using Harry’s body as a pillow. They always sleep well when they’re together, but there’s something to be said for the feeling of waking up with a leg cramp and his boy wound around him, half suffocating him.

“You’re what I deserve,” Harry says softly.

Louis wiggles happily. “Damn straight.”

 

Their stag party is joint and involves a lot of strippers, of both the male and female variety. Harry isn’t exactly sure what about his life over the past four years has lead to this particular type of party, but watching Louis watch one of the more - adventurous strippers, perplexed look on his face, is worth it.

“How do you think she learned to do that?” Louis asks, tipping his head closer to Harry’s.

“Practice, probably,” Harry answers, leaning his head against Louis’. He’s got half a beer in his hand, going warm, and there’s a collection of empty bottles and glasses on the table in front of them that are only half theirs. The party is still going strong around them, people they’ve only seen before once in their lives mingling and dancing, and everyone that they do actually know seems to have disappeared, leaving the two of them more or less alone.

Harry doesn’t mind, not when he’s got the warmth of Louis’ body pressed up against his side, keeping him there with an arm around his shoulders. They’ve already snuck away once to get off quickly in the loo, but Harry could probably be convinced to go another round. It has nothing to do with the abundance of strippers and everything to do with the fact that he’s spent the entire night kissing Louis on demand and the fact that tomorrow they’re getting _married_.

“You should learn how to do that,” Louis says after a few more minutes, tucking a hand underneath Harry’s thigh.

They watch the girl contort herself into a position that looks all but impossible. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Louis tugs the bottle from Harry’s lax fingers and drinks the rest of it. There’s no world in which Harry doesn’t watch him swallow, pretty little fingers gripping the bottle tight, head tipping back. Gorgeous.

“Pretty sure we’re gonna need more drinks if I’m going to be forced to continue watching this,” Louis mutters, slapping Harry on the thigh and pushing himself up. Harry’s side instantly feels cold. “You want anything?”

As if Harry’s going to let him walk off alone on the night of their bachelor party. Maybe he can even convince Louis to go for another round if he gets him close enough to the loo. “I’ll come with you.” 

He holds his hands out and wiggles his eyebrows expectantly. Louis looks down at them and back up, raising his own eyebrows slowly. “This never works, I don’t know why you always insist on trying.” He grasps Harry’s hands and pulls anyway, trying to haul him up off the sofa.

It ends the same way it always does, with Louis splayed across his lap after Harry’s pulled him back down. It’s a good position for kissing, and this entire night is a celebration of their relationship, so that’s what Harry does, gripping the back of Louis’ head so he can’t pretend to pull away like a douchebag. Louis probably only lets him get away with it because they’re in a room full of people who would side-eye them for the rest of their lives if he didn’t, and Harry can feel him thinking about giving him a slap anyway for a couple of seconds.

Once he’s sure that Louis isn’t going to try to slip away Harry gentles his grip, curling the fingers of one hand in Louis’ hair and the other around Louis’ hip, over his jeans. They kiss slowly, wetly, mouths moving together easily. Louis makes the tiniest little noise from the back of his throat, and it sounds so fucking good Harry has to follow where it came from, mouthing over Louis’ jaw and down his throat.

It’s one of Louis’ favourite spots to be kissed, on his neck, and Harry uses that to his full advantage, scraping over smooth skin with his teeth until he’s got Louis’ arse rocking down against his cock and his hands clenching his biceps.

Bathroom sex round two is starting to seem like it’s not that far off.

That is, until the barrage of things that are being thrown at them becomes impossible to ignore. Louis sighs into Harry’s mouth and swipes their tongues together one last time before pulling back. He doesn’t climb out of Harry’s lap, though, which is never a bad thing. “Unless you want to have some slaps added to your count you better stop that right now.”

“No one wants to see you snogging, Lou,” Zayn says immediately. Another ball of paper lands in Harry’s hair.

“I think there’s at least a couple thousand of your fans that would beg to differ,” Louis says, twisting so he can level an unimpressed look in Zayn’s direction.

Zayn doesn’t look intimidated at all. Probably that’s a benefit of not having sex with Louis. Harry’s had that look leveled at him so many times he flinches a little if he’s not expecting it.

It’s the _you’re not getting laid for at least a week_ look. Harry’s not sure what it says about the relationship between the five of them that Louis is using it on Zayn right now. Zayn doesn’t care if Louis is withholding sex.

Although if Harry whines enough Zayn will roll his eyes, mutter something unflattering, and pull Louis aside to talk. It works about thirty percent of the time.

“There’s also at least a couple thousand of our fans that would rather watch me and Harry snogging, so don’t let that go to your head,” Zayn says, waving a package of cigarettes around. “You want?”

“Yes,” Louis says. He twists back around and kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth. “Order me a drink, yeah?” 

Harry sighs a little mournfully and watches that arse walk away. So much for round two of bathroom sex.

Although maybe if he orders Louis one of those fruity cocktails he likes he can charm his way into Louis’ pants. It wouldn’t be the first time that trick has worked.

 

“Shouldn’t have had that last drink,” Harry murmurs, pressing his mouth against Louis’ again, just for the way it feels. The twenty foot walk to his room feels like it’s an ocean away, and - not for the first time - he regrets insisting that they do things the old-fashioned way.

“I told you,” Louis says reasonably, letting his lips part a little, like he’s trying to coax Harry into giving him some tongue.

Harry’s given him more than enough tongue for the night, but he can always be convinced to give him a little more when he’s asking for it so nicely, so what was supposed to be their last kiss of the night turns into their eighth last kiss of the night.

They probably shouldn’t be doing this here - they have two hotel rooms that are going to waste, after all - but the temptation to put Louis on the bed and then eat him out until he’s a shuddery, satisfied mess would be too much inside a room with a bed where they wouldn’t be interrupted, so Harry makes do with the kissing.

It’s not like it’s a hardship, anyway, kissing Louis, and it’s especially not a hardship kissing Louis when he’s got him pinned up against a wall with a couple of their security guys keeping the hallway clear, mouth soft and wet underneath Harry’s, giving back just as good as he’s getting.

It pays to be famous, sometimes.

Louis starts making that noise entirely too soon - the really soft, whimpery one that means that he actually, legitimately really wants sex, and Harry’s managed to resist that noise all of once, and that was only because Liam and Zayn had literally dumped a bucket of water over them.

Resisting it now feels like a victory almost as much as it feels like being defeated and then sentenced to death by way of a really fucking dull blade chipping away at his heart.

“Okay,” Harry says, holding Louis against the wall by his hips. Louis blinks up at him, pink-cheeked and hair mussed, and it would take exactly zero effort to get him to lead Harry into the room so they could have sex.

God, what Harry wouldn’t give to have sex right now.

Doing things the traditional way is important to him, though, so he kisses Louis one more time and maybe sneaks a bum grab in there too, because Louis’ bum is the nicest thing Harry’s hands have ever felt, and makes sure that Louis gets into the room before stumbling down the hall to his own.

The stumbling isn’t even from the drinking, at this point. The stumbling is from how much room Harry’s cock is taking up in his pants.

 

An hour and a half of staring blankly up at the ceiling, pointedly _not_ thinking about the way he has no cold toes poking him in the calves despite the fact that he _could_ , and the way that the other side of the bed is unsettlingly empty, he admits defeat.

Fuck being traditional. Nothing else about this relationship has been traditional. There’s no reason that Harry can’t go down the hall and make his boy scream until Alberto won’t be able to look either of them in the eye in the morning.

Louis is fast asleep by the time Harry snicks the door closed behind him, sprawled out on his belly in the middle of the mattress, sheets pulled up to his shoulders and hair still mussed from Harry’s hands.

Harry’s chest is a little bit sore from how much he loves him. He rubs at it absently, standing in the middle of the room just drinking in his fill of Louis sleeping for so long that he’s nearly zoned out by the time Louis says something.

“You just gonna stand there all night?”

His voice is sleep rough and sweet, and fuck if that doesn’t do nice things for Harry’s cock.

“Like watching you sleep,” Harry says, kicking his shoes off, uncaring of where they land. Louis will probably trip over them in the morning and threaten to leave Harry at the altar, but that doesn’t even matter right now, not when Louis is turning over, sheet slipping down to his hips, leaving his torso bare and so fucking attractive Harry can hardly stand it.

Sometimes he still finds himself wondering how he got so lucky.

“Mm,” Louis hums, kicking the sheets all the way off, and.

He’s completely naked, lounging on the sheets like he doesn’t even care what he’s doing to Harry right now.

He doesn’t normally sleep naked, is the thing, at least not when they’re not sleeping in the same bed, because he always kicks the sheets down and then gets cold and then irritated by how cold he gets, and if Harry’s not there to keep him warm - partially with body heat and partially because Louis is better at staying still when he’s got Harry curled up against his back - he wakes up in the middle of the night shivering and in a bad mood.

Harry’s gotten enough irate phone calls at three o’clock in the morning because Louis wants him to suffer as much as he does to know this.

“You waiting for me?” Harry asks. His voice comes out much rougher than he intends for it to, but there’s a tiny little Louis Tomlinson lying naked in a big bed waiting for Harry to put his cock in him one last time before they get married.

Harry is _so_ fucking lucky.

“Knew you wouldn’t be able to make it through the entire night,” Louis says, drawing his left leg up so his foot is flat against the mattress. Only the bedside lamp is on, so it’s too dark to really be able to see anything, and Harry’s been hard since before he even left his room. 

Getting his shirt and sleep pants off is much harder than it should be, but who can really blame him when Louis is lying there with a hand wrapped loosely around his own cock, rubbing lightly over his shaft. It doesn’t take him long to get fully hard, and fuck if that isn’t something that Harry will never get tired of watching.

He doesn’t trip on his way over to the bed, which should definitely count for something. The mattress sinks underneath his knees as he settles himself in between Louis’ thighs, wasting a little bit of time fumbling with the packet of lube he brought, smearing it on his fingers and pressing one inside of Louis’ bum with absolutely no resistance, and.

“Jesus,” Harry says on an exhale, sinking a second finger in just as fast, smooth and slick.

“Got myself ready for you,” Louis says quietly, digging his fingers into that spot on Harry’s back that always vaguely aches after a long day. Harry’s fingers falter inside of Louis’ arse, just a little, from the way it feels.

Louis is watching his face carefully. “Hurts?”

“A little,” Harry says honestly, letting his head drop onto Louis’ shoulder while he finishes working the knot out.

There’s probably nothing in the world that he enjoys more than Louis’ fingers - except his mouth, but that’s something Harry tries not to think too hard about unless he’s getting Louis’ mouth - regardless of where they are on his body, and that’s something that Louis has used to his advantage for years.

He could lie here like this forever, getting petted just right by the best boy in the world, breathing in the scent of him with his mouth pressed up against warm, smooth skin, but he has more important things to worry about right now.

The way Louis smacks the palm of his hand against Harry’s shoulder tells him he agrees. “That’s all you’re getting. You’ve got work to do.”

Harry bites back his smile. “Fucking you is a lot of work,” he agrees solemnly, twisting his fingers inside of Louis’ arse, moving so easily that adding another one seems like the only proper course of action.

It’s a tighter fit with three fingers, but it feels so fucking good that Harry can’t wait to get his cock in there.

“You love my bum,” Louis says, wiggling underneath Harry until he’s managed to get his leg hooked around Harry’s back. “You love when I let you put your cock into it.”

“I do love it when you let me put my cock into you,” Harry says, pulling his fingers out just enough to push them back in, nice and slow, watching the way Louis’ face always shows his pleasure.

Louis licks his bottom lip, little pink tongue darting out quickly. “You just gonna dick me without even kissing me? Not sure that’s gonna be a good start to the rest of our lives.”

Harry’s chest burns bright from the force of his feelings, from how much he loves this boy - how much he loves this boy talking about spending the rest of his life with Harry.

“I love you,” Harry says. Sometimes when he says it it sounds like it comes out of the blue, but there’s times when he just can’t hold it in. Doesn’t want to hold it in.

Doesn’t hold it in, because the look on Louis’ face when he says it is so rewarding, especially when he’s underneath Harry like this and he can’t hide his face, the way he tries to hold back his smile, the way his blinks suddenly take ten seconds every time. Like this, Harry can see his thoughts written all over his face, the way he always thinks about whether Harry deserves hearing him say it back at that particular moment.

He always makes Harry work for it, but he’s never more successful than when they’re having sex.

Louis always tries to claim that Harry’s the more emotional one when they have sex, but the truth of the matter is that Harry’s only like that because of the way Louis responds to it, soft and pleased and so fucking sure that he has all of Harry’s attention and the way he knows _exactly_ which buttons to push. 

“I love you too,” Louis says, tipping his chin up exactly the way he knows will always get Harry to kiss him, and it’s never not going to work, so Harry leans down and kisses him, soft and wet and biting.

In seven hours they’re going to get up and get ready to get married, which probably means that Louis isn’t going to pretend to be mad if Harry pushes him on it. “How much?”

He gives Louis a minute to think about it, and it’s absolutely not because he just wants to kiss him again, slipping his tongue inside of Louis’ hot little mouth, cock throbbing at the way Louis sucks on it, cheekbones probably hollowing so fucking attractively, the same way they do when he’s sucking Harry’s cock.

“Enough that I’m not even going to give you any more slaps for being such a tosser,” Louis answers, looping his arms around Harry’s neck. “Or for taking five fucking years to get to the good stuff every time we have sex.”

That’s just _blatantly_ untrue, and the only thing Harry has to do to prove it is rock his hips down gently, giving Louis something to grind up against, fucking his fingers in a little harder.

“So why do you feel like you’re about to go off any second?” Harry asks, holding his thigh still, giving Louis something to move against properly, the same way he does when they’re dancing, just the two of them, and Louis is trying to get Harry to give it to him without having to ask for it.

Having Louis move like that only draws attention to Harry’s own cock, benefiting in the best possible way.

“Maybe because,” Louis says, digging his fingers into Harry’s shoulders and arching his back, showing off the absolutely gorgeous way he’s sweating just the tiniest bit, gleaming in the dim light, “you’re three fingers deep and you know that there’s nothing quite like the way you finger me?”

“Maybe because you spent twenty minutes fingering yourself before I even got out of bed, thinking that it would get me to move quicker?” Harry asks, pressing his fingertips against Louis’ prostate firmly, _thoroughly_ enjoying the sound of Louis whimpering.

Louis licks his bottom lip again and swallows, leaving Harry no choice but to replace that shine of spit with his own, sucking Louis’ lip into his mouth for a second, just until it’s nice and plump, pink.

“Wasn’t because I thought it would get you to move quicker,” Louis says, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair as he finally pulls his fingers out and slicks the rest of the lube on his cock.

“Mm,” Harry murmurs distractedly, trying not to focus on the tight little clench of Louis’ hole, only just visible from this angle. “So why was it, then?”

“It was a present,” Louis says, tugging on a strand of Harry’s hair until he’s forced to look back up at his face.

“A present,” Harry echoes, gripping Louis’ thighs out of sheer sense memory and spreading him open even farther.

Louis’ smirk is entirely unwarranted. “A present. Made it easy for you, didn’t I? Could have just come in here, dropped your pants and put your cock in me just like that.”

“Just like this, you mean?” Harry asks, and finally, _finally_ starts pushing in, eyes fixed on Louis’ face.

Louis always says that he’s weird because for that first minute when he’s pushing in for the first stroke, it’s easy to ignore how it feels for himself and be amazed at how it seems to feel for Louis, like he’s never felt anything better in his life. Sometimes he can even manage to get Louis to talk about it, how it feels for him, and that never fails to be so hot Harry can barely stand it.

“’s nice?” Harry asks, stopping once he’s all the way in. The immediate pleasure of having his cock buried all the way in Louis’ bum is starting to catch up to him, but he can probably hold it off for another minute.

“It’s nice,” Louis agrees, turning his face to the side and closing his eyes, so clearly biting back his smile that Harry would normally roll his eyes.

They’re getting married in a few hours, though, and Harry knows exactly what to say to get Louis to respond the way he wants. “Thank you for letting me put my cock in you, baby.”

“It is a hardship,” Louis says, throwing his arm up over his face as Harry starts moving, slowly, gently, coaxing more words out of him. “Your cock, I mean. That’s a hardship.”

“It does get quite hard around you,” Harry muses, picking up his pace just a little.

The smile Louis had been holding back is out in full force, now. “Your cock loves me.”

“My everything loves you,” Harry says, wiggling one hand underneath Louis’ back, sweat damp and slippery. It’s a little bit hard to hold on, but Harry’s made it his lifelong mission to hold onto this boy, so he manages.

“My everything loves your everything,” Louis says, like it’s a competition or something, but he’s scratching at Harry’s back the way he likes best. “My everything likes the way your cock feels.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, kissing Louis’ mouth as he starts thrusting properly, the way Louis likes. It’s tight and warm and the best thing that Harry’s ever felt, always is.

“Might let you put it in my mouth in the morning,” Louis says, tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair. “Before I let you marry me.”

God. What the hell did Harry do to get this lucky.

Concentrating on responding to Louis taunting him is never going to work when he’s buried balls deep in his arse, so instead Harry kisses him until neither of them can breathe properly, thrusting in deep and hard for a couple of minutes before he lets go of Louis’ thigh in favour of wrapping it around Louis’ cock, trusting that he’ll be able to keep it there by himself.

He never disappoints, Harry’s boy, and he doesn’t now, not when Harry’s making a mission of hitting Louis’ prostate with every thrust, staving off his own orgasm because making Louis come is always going to be the most important part of sex to him.

“I’m gonna marry you tomorrow,” Harry mumbles, pressing the words into Louis’ mouth. “Gonna make you my _spouse_.”

The noise Louis makes in response to that is high pitched and needy, and he clutches Harry tighter with his thighs, arching up into Harry’s hand and coming so fucking prettily, mouth open and eyes squeezed closed. Harry slows down to watch, completely unintentionally, and doesn’t take his hand off Louis’ cock until Louis makes him, curling his fingers around Harry’s and tugging him away.

“You fucker,” Louis sighs, lacing their fingers together on his come covered belly. He doesn’t sound displeased.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, rocking his hips pointedly. There’s a fifty fifty chance on whether Louis will laugh or hit him, and this time he laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks soft and happy, relaxed, like he would let Harry fuck him for at least another twenty minutes before he started complaining.

Harry doesn’t want to take that chance, though, so he picks up his pace again, fingers still laced through Louis’. It doesn’t take him long to come, not after that display of beauty, shuddering into the juncture of Louis’ neck, thinking idly about biting. He doesn’t, because he’s always worried that he’ll bite a little too hard when he’s coming and genuinely hurt Louis, but it’s a nice thought to add to the list of things in his head when he comes.

It takes a minute to muster up the energy to pull out after that, and even then he can’t convince himself to roll off of Louis, so they just lie there, tangled together, sweat cooling by the second.

“Okay, now go back to your room,” Louis says abruptly, pushing weakly at Harry’s shoulder. “Go on, get.”

“Oh, baby, I think we both know that I’m not going back to my room,” Harry says, kissing Louis on the corner of his mouth, just to feel the way he can’t stop himself from smiling. “Thank you for marrying me.”

Louis’ shoving continues, and never let it be said that Harry can’t take a hint. He rolls them over, landing with Louis between his legs, head on Harry’s chest. It’s a position Louis likes after sex, one where he can attempt to crush Harry into the mattress.

Harry has yet to tell him that he’s not big enough to crush Harry into anything. He’s saving that one for a time when they’re arguing and he needs something to throw in Louis’ face after he throws something in Harry’s. Harry can already picture the look on his face.

“There’s still time for me to walk out on you,” Louis says, elbow digging into Harry’s ribs as he pushes himself up, so they’re looking each other in the face.

Harry clutches him a little tighter automatically. He can’t even imagine his life without Louis anymore. Doesn’t want to try. “Yeah, but if you did that who would keep you in the lifestyle you’ve become accustomed to?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but I have all the boys wrapped around my finger,” Louis informs him solemnly. “Any one of them would be a better keeper than you.”

“So what you’re saying is that you want to be a kept boy?” Harry asks blandly.

“That is _exactly_ what I want,” Louis agrees, sinking back down against Harry’s chest. “Keep me in all the finest garments in the land.”

That statement would go well with a handful of the finest arse in the land, so Harry grabs it and squeezes, shocking a laugh out of Louis. “I think what you’re wearing right now would qualify.”

“That’s exactly the type of thing a serial killer who wants to murder me and wear my skin as a cape would say,” Louis says sleepily.

Great. Now Harry’s probably going to dream about a serial killer who wears human skins as capes. That’s totally not cool at all. “You’re one of the worst people I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve not going to dream about getting eaten by a murderer Harry, god,” Louis says, pinching at his bare arm. “Not when I’m gonna let you press up against me arse all night. You’re gonna dream about fucking me, like you normally do.”

Harry doesn’t dream about fucking Louis every night, actually, but that would be pretty epic. “Why dream about it when it could be a reality, huh?”

Louis pinches him again. “Go the fuck to sleep, babe.”

There’s about four dick slaps to be had for not listening, but Harry has to get it out there anyway, one more time for the night. “I love you.”

Louis’ quiet for long enough that it seems like he’s actually fallen asleep. Then, “I love you too, you giant fucking prick.”

Harry falls asleep still smiling.

 

He’s awake before the alarm goes off in the morning, propped up on an elbow watching Louis sleep, face soft and young. He’s beautiful, stunningly gorgeous, even when he’s got drool slipping down the side of his face. Harry really doesn’t tell him that enough.

He flicks the alarm off before it even has the chance to shrill, stroking his fingers down the side of Louis’ face, across his jaw, until his eyelashes start to flutter.

Instead of opening his eyes, Louis mumbles, “You’re a creep.”

“You’re so attractive,” Harry says, dragging his thumb up to Louis’ mouth. “Like, devastatingly gorgeous, did you know that?” He slips his thumb past Louis’ lips without giving him a chance to answer, not pressing against his teeth or anything like that, so sucking on it is entirely Louis’ idea.

Mostly.

It’s warm and wet inside of Louis’ mouth. Harry’s cock throbs with a reminder. “Said you were gonna let me put my cock in your mouth.”

Louis lets Harry’s thumb leave his mouth, spit slick and shiny, cooling by the second. “Did say that, didn’t I.”

“What kind of boy would you be if you didn’t follow through on your promises?” Harry asks, trailing his thumb back down Louis’ neck, slipping over a nipple.

“The kind of boy you want to marry,” Louis says, pushing at Harry’s shoulders until he’s sitting up against the headboard, sheets crumpled down at their feet. “Last week I promised to bring you home one of them pastry things that you like and instead I bought one for myself and ate it before I got home so you wouldn’t know.”

He’s mostly careful as he crumples face first into Harry’s lap, but if he was being completely careful he wouldn’t be crumpling, expecting Harry to be able to catch him at the last second if something does go wrong.

“You think I didn’t know?” Harry asks, threading his fingers in Louis’ hair. “I could taste it when I kissed you after you got home.”

Louis peers up at him through his eyelashes. “So why didn’t you say anything?” he demands, pinching Harry’s thigh hard enough that Harry’s forced to grab his hand so he won’t do it again.

“I was saving it for the next time we argued,” Harry admits. His reward for that display of domesticity is Louis sucking his cock into his mouth, warm and wet.

If only things like that were guaranteed to get Louis to suck his cock. Harry would do that shit all day.

He can’t concentrate on that anymore, not when he has Louis’ mouthing his cock, sucking on just the head for a couple minutes before he takes in more, sliding down Harry’s cock easily, spit slicking the way.

“Love your mouth,” Harry sighs, gripping Louis’ hair a little tighter unconsciously, watching the way his cheekbones hollow so fucking attractively as he sucks a little harder, trying to get Harry off. “Could be a porn star, you suck cock so good.”

Louis pulls off abruptly. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” he demands, glaring up Harry. “Like, hey, baby, you look good with a dick in your mouth, wanna make a video?”

“Do you wanna make a video?” Harry asks. Even he can’t deny that he deserves that slap that Louis gives him, right over his hipbone, but it fucking hurts.

“You’re so fucking lucky that I love you despite the fact that you’re a prick,” Louis mutters, curling his fingers around the base of Harry’s cock and licking gently at the head a couple of times before sinking back down, as far he was before.

“Love that you like sucking cock,” Harry says, putting his hand back in Louis’ hair, closer to his ear this time, so he can rub Louis’ jaw as he sucks. It’s a comment that teeters on the thin line of Louis not appreciating it, so he adds, “Love that you let me put my cock in your mouth.”

Harry’s not ashamed to admit that he really fucking likes it when Louis deepthroats him, like the feeling of his entire cock being sucked into his boy’s mouth, likes the way it makes Louis’ eyes water a little but makes him so fucking determined to get Harry to come like that, as if it’s ever taken more than two and a half minutes of it when Louis lets him have it. He likes it so much he tries to coax Louis into it sometimes, but only when he knows that Louis wants to be coaxed, likes having Harry’s cock stuffed down his throat, being forced to breathe through his nose.

Harry’s going to coax him a little. It’s their wedding day, after all.

“Love that my cock’s going to be the last one you ever suck,” Harry says, rubbing his thumb against the corner of Louis’ mouth, stretched around him. “Love that for the rest of your life I’m gonna be the only person who gives you what you want, the only person who gets to see you come, the only person who _makes_ you come.”

Louis moans around his cock, sinking down even deeper, and yes, that’s _exactly_ what Harry was going for. Louis’ nose hits his stomach, swallowing convulsively around him, probably not even intentionally, but it feels so fucking good that it’s all Harry can do not to come.

“Jesus, Lou, you’re so _good_ ,” Harry says, scratching his fingers over Louis’ scalp almost obsessively. “We’re gonna be married this time tomorrow, can you believe that?”

It’s not a particularly sexy comment, but it still has Louis whimpering again, and that’s enough to have Harry coming in hot, thick pulses. Louis swallows around him, fingernails digging into Harry’s thighs, and the entire thing is so hot that Harry’s cock puts up a valiant effort into staying hard.

He doesn’t, because that was a really spectacular blowjob, and Louis pulls off once Harry’s cock has mostly stopped twitching. Harry doesn’t waste any time hauling him all the way up, into his lap so he can attack Louis’ face with kisses, trying to get at his mouth and failing until Louis turns into it. No one’s ever said that Harry’s not good at multi-tasking, so he plunges his hand down in between their bodies and grabs Louis’ cock, hot and hard, and starts pulling him off, fast and tight.

“C’mon, baby,” Harry says, keeping Louis as close to him as humanly possible, the way he plans on doing for the rest of his life, “know you wanna come. Show me how pretty you are when you come, yeah?”

It’s a little bit of gentle encouragement, and no matter what Louis says afterwards it’s what he needs to tip him over the edge, coming in Harry’s hand and all over his stomach, getting them both even dirtier than they were from the frankly amazing sex they had a few hours ago.

They’re both quiet for a couple minutes, getting their breathing back under control. “Race you to the shower?” Harry offers, squeezing a handful of Louis’ arse.

“What’re the terms and conditions?” Louis asks, and then, without even giving Harry the chance to answer, slaps him on the cheek. “Never mind, I’ll just win.” He scrambles out of Harry’s lap while Harry is still trying to rub the hurt away and makes it before Harry’s even climbed out of the bed.

In a few hours Harry’s going to marry this insufferable little shit. He can’t wait.

 

“Okay,” Louis starts, still standing there in his bare feet and the trackies that are a couple of sizes too big and always threaten to fall down his hips, leaving him naked for the world to see.

Harry had pretty much held him down and forced him to wear pants underneath them after they finished showering. He’s not taking any chances today. They’re going to make it to the church without any incidents and get dressed, also without any incidents.

“We’re gonna go out there and rock this shit,” Louis continues, poking Zayn in the chest. Zayn obligingly passes it on to Niall, who passes it on to Liam, who passes it on to Harry. Harry doesn’t pass it back to Louis. He’s not risking the agreement about the slap-free day that they’ve got going. “We’re gonna stand up on an alter and tell each other that we’re in love in ridiculous and inappropriate ways and the boys are gonna stand behind us and poke us when we get too far off track. Right lads?”

“Right,” the boys agree.

“And then we’re gonna sneak away during the reception and Liam’s gonna make a speech that makes everyone emotional and Niall’s not going to be able to stop hugging us and Zayn’s gonna keep me from murdering the stupid record execs that you couldn’t get out of inviting, and Harry’s gonna cry at least seven times,” Louis finishes, clapping his hands together. “Everyone ready?”

Liam throws his arms across Niall and Harry, squeezing them tightly. “I love you guys so much, and I’m so happy for you,” he says emotionally.

Across the circle, Louis raises his eyebrows. “You ever get the feeling that one day he’s gonna shove us together and yell _now kiss_ while cackling maniacally?” he asks Harry.

Harry makes grabby hands in Louis’ direction. “Aww, baby, if you want to be kissed you just gotta ask,” he croons. Louis makes an aborted movement, entire body twitching with the effort of holding himself back from smacking Harry’s hands.

Harry smirks at him. “God, I hate you,” Louis mutters. 

“Now kiss,” Niall yells loudly, and they all go down in a pile of limbs.

As far as pep talks go, it’s pretty good.

 

They had fought, pretty much consistently over the past eight months, about who was going to walk down the aisle last. Ideally, neither of them would - not because it’s traditionally feminine or anything like that, and not because they care about the fact there are newspapers that are undoubtedly going to say that Louis is ‘the girl’ in their relationship, but because neither of them particularly had any desire to walk down the aisle at all.

Putting that idea into action had ended up being more trouble than it was worth, though, and one night, after a few drinks, Harry had confessed that that idea of a perfect wedding he had in his head involved watching his significant other walking down the aisle to him.

Louis hadn’t ever explicitly agreed to it, and they’d continued bickering over it, but it had been written into the plans that Louis _would_ , and right now, at this very moment, Harry couldn’t be happier that they’d made that decision.

He’s crying before Louis is even halfway down the aisle, and by the time he’s five feet away there’s no way he can wait any longer, not with Louis looking like he does, so stepping down off the altar and meeting Louis a few feet away just so he can cup Louis’ jaw and kiss him is the only thing he can do.

“You’re ruining the moment,” Louis mumbles, but that doesn’t stop him from kissing Harry back, wrinkling his shirt as he grabs it.

“I love you,” Harry says, leaning their foreheads together and ignoring the deliberate coughing coming from the entire wedding party.

“Save the sappy stuff for your vows,” Louis says, rolling his eyes, but there’s no denying the brightness on his face. This is probably the only day that Louis would let him get away with making a comment about it without some form of repercussion.

Harry doesn’t. He’ll whisper it into Louis’ ear later, when they’re alone on a bed, officially on their honeymoon. Instead, he quirks a smile at Louis’ beautiful face and says, “Thank you for not standing me up.”

“Thought about it,” Louis grumbles. He lets Harry slip their hands together and lead him up to where they’re supposed to be standing, in front of all their closest family and friends and about two hundred other people that they couldn’t get out of inviting.

He doesn’t really hear any of the words the marriage officiant is saying, too busy drinking in the sight of Louis, the man he’s about to marry.

Then the marriage officiant asks Harry for his vows, and he snaps back to attention. “Yeah, alright,” Harry says, turning to face Louis fully.

“No, wait, I want to go first,” Louis interrupts, fumbling around in his jacket until he comes out with a mess of crumpled papers.

“Okay,” Harry agrees, smiling helplessly. It feels like he’s not going to be able to stop smiling for the next three days at least, and he’s fine with that.

Especially because Louis looks like he might feel the same way.

“I promise to never be later than an hour without calling you,” Louis says. “You’re not my partner in crime, because that’s Zayn, but you are one of my accomplices and you know how coveted that position is.”

“It’s really not that coveted,” Harry says.

Louis pinches his palm. “It is coveted and you know it.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees.

“You’re the person that I go to when I’m upset, and you can always make me feel better, no matter what’s going on.”

“Lou,” Harry whispers, reaching out for Louis’ hands. Louis only lets him have one, the other still clutching onto his papers even though he’s not using them.

“Shush, you. I’m not finished.”

Harry will never be finished with Louis, so that’s fine by him. He makes a vague ‘go on’ type of gesture with his free hand that probably only looks like spastic flailing. Hopefully Louis understands it.

“As I was _saying_ ,” Louis says, enunciating the word clearly, so Harry will understand, “you make me feel safe and taken care of, and I hate it when other people try to do that to me, so that should tell you something about how much I love you.”

Okay, Harry’s going to start crying for real any second now. His heart feels like it’s going to burst out of his chest. “You’re my life partner, and when we first met I tried to convince myself that I disliked you, and it was really hard, even that first time we met, just because of the way the boys talked about you and how you are when you’re with them, and - ”

Louis pauses, blinking frantically, like he’s going to make himself cry, and Harry knows how hard this is for him, to stand up here in front of a bunch of people that he doesn’t care about, a bunch of people that he _knows_ talk shit about him behind his back, a bunch of people who are skeptical that their relationship is going to last, and tell them all his deepest feelings.

What Harry wouldn’t give to be standing up here with only the people they care about surrounding them. There are prices to fame, though, and this is one of them, as unfortunate as it is. He inches a little closer, into Louis’ space, so the tips of their toes are touching, and strokes his thumb over the bones in Louis’ wrist.

“And I knew that I was in love with you that time in Melbourne, when you tried to tell me that you needed to be touching me for me to understand what you’re trying to tell me, and we had a movie night with the boys and when I woke up you still had me in your lap with your arm twisted around my back so I wouldn’t fall and hit my head during the middle of the night, and it must have hurt, sleeping like that all night, but you still let me steal half of your bacon during breakfast.”

Harry’s proper crying now, tears slipping down his cheeks. Louis has never told him that part of the story, before - when Harry presses and cuddles him just right he can get him to talk about how he knew he was falling when he saw Harry’s face before that interview, the first one he went with them to, how he reacted to that magazine saying that he was leaving the boys. The immediate attraction between them that he tried to ignore, and then, when that didn’t work, used it to his advantage. How he knew it was such a bad fucking idea to let Harry kiss him but he just wanted it _so much_ that he never stopped it.

The entire time Louis was trying not to fall in love, scared that Harry wouldn’t feel the same, Harry was probably already in love.

“You know the moment,” Harry breathes, already pulling Louis closer so they’ll be able to kiss. Louis knows the exact moment that he knew he was in love, and Harry just - he can barely believe it.

And god, it was so _early_. Harry spent months trying to coax Louis into kissing him, not even knowing that Louis was saying no because he was trying not to let his feeling develop.

Resisting the urge to kiss Louis is hard at the best of times, but it’s downright impossible not to kiss him when he’s telling Harry about how he knew he was in love.

Liam’s finger is sharp in the middle of his back. “You’re supposed to save that for later,” he hisses. Harry ignores him, bringing his hand up to Louis’ face, stroking along his cheekbone and dipping his tongue into Louis’ mouth. It’s probably just on the side of too-intimate for a wedding kiss, but it’s the least that Louis deserves, putting up with the things Harry does for his career.

“I love you,” Harry says quietly, just for Louis to hear. He’ll say it again with everyone bearing witness to it, but for now it’s just for the two of them. For Louis to know and understand.

God, Louis’ smile has never felt so good. “I love you too.”

The marriage officiant clears his throat. “Louis, if you’re finished?”

“I’m not,” Louis says, drawing back a couple of inches. “There’s a whole bunch of shit I wouldn’t do for you, and you know it, but the amount of shit that I _would_ do for you is insane, and I want to keep doing all of that for the rest of my life.”

_The rest of his life_. Harry’s never heard anything that sounds better.

Louis sways a little closer, pushing himself up onto his toes so he can whisper into Harry’s ear. “And I really love your dick.”

There’s a fair chance that Harry’s face has never looked stupider, grinning like he is. He also doesn’t care.

Louis lands back down on his heels gracefully, rocking just out of Harry’s reach. “Your turn.”

“There’s so many things I love about you,” Harry says, gripping both of Louis’ hands in his own. “I just - it’s a lot when I look at you, you know? Sometimes it just hits me out of nowhere, when you’re texting your mum or filling out paperwork, how much I love you.”

“Is this part of your vows or are you just rambling?” Louis asks, eyes watery and smile the brightest Harry’s ever seen it.

Harry’s going to make him _cry_.

“It’s my turn to talk,” Harry reminds him, gripping him a little tighter.

“But you don’t have the talking stick,” Louis says, frowning exaggeratedly.

“I do have your ring, though,” Harry says, frowning back just as exaggeratedly. “I mean, unless you don’t want it any more.”

Louis’ grip gets just the tiniest bit tighter. “Well, I guess if you _really_ want to give it to me.”

The boys snicker quietly from behind them. Harry barely even hears it. He clears his throat. “I promise not to let your arse distract me too much from what I’m supposed to be doing. I promise to love you even when you’re in the middle of making my favourite shirt into a headband for Zayn, or when you’re letting Niall steal all of our food at three in the morning.”

“Niall’s still a growing boy,” Louis says, and if this was any other day that comment would have completely sidetracked their entire conversation for at least five minutes.

Today’s their wedding day, though.

Still. “Niall’s not a fucking growing boy,” Harry mutters, and continues fast so Louis can’t sidetrack him. “I still have faith in us. I have so much faith in us that it’s kind of hard to believe, sometimes, and I know that when I’m having a shitty day I can come back and you’ll make fun of the shirt I’m wearing or something ridiculous like that, and - ”

He pauses to drag in a quick breath. “Sometimes it feels like there’s not a whole lot that’s normal about my life, and we get mobbed when we go to fucking _Waitrose_ , sometimes, and it would be so easy to let that get overwhelming, but it helps that you’re kind of a shut in, at least a little bit.”

“You’re not exactly showering me with compliments, here,” Louis says. Harry still hasn’t made him cry.

He’s getting there.

“We balance each other,” Harry says. “You’ve balanced me out since the very first day we met, and I think I do the same for you, and that’s one of the most incredible feelings in the world.”

Louis is appropriately teary-eyed, now. “I have faith that this is worth it, even when we’re fighting,” Harry says, and that’s what does it, finally. Louis is officially crying.

This is the best day ever.

“I love you so much I can’t even put it in words, sometimes,” Harry continues, letting go of one of Louis’ hands to touch his face instead, smoothing across his cheekbone, getting his thumb damp. “And that would upset me if I thought that you didn’t know, even when I can’t find the words to say it. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Louis Tomlinson.”

Then, because he can’t resist, he sways forward to whisper in Louis’ ear, “And I love your dick too.”

Louis doesn’t even wait for the officiant to declare them married before he’s attacking Harry with his mouth, and then they’re having their first proper kiss as spouses, entirely too deep and dirty to be wedding appropriate.

Harry couldn’t care less, even when the whistling and jeering starts.

He’s so in love with this boy.

 

It’s a five minute ride between the venue for the ceremony and the venue for the reception. They’ve got golf carts for getting their guests in between the two, and if it was any other day Louis would have booked it for one of the carts and proceeded to terrorize pretty much everyone possible.

Instead he’s underneath Harry in the back of a limo, both of their trousers undone and cocks rubbing together. Harry’s fumbling with a travel size packet of lube, trying to get it open while he has Louis squirming underneath him like a manic little pixie.

“What are you using that for?” Louis demands, still squirming around. Harry can’t tell what he’s trying to do when half his attention is still on the stupid package, slipping out of his grasp.

“Gonna get you off, baby,” Harry mutters, finally bringing it up to his mouth and tearing it open with his teeth.

Louis stops him with one hand covering Harry’s before he can even finish pulling the lube away from his mouth. “But _how_?” he presses.

Harry cocks an eyebrow at him. “How do you want it?”

“Harry,” Louis says thoughtfully, still holding the lube in between them, “if the first time we have sex as a married couple _doesn’t_ involve your dick in my arse I’m filling for divorce.”

That’s something that Harry hadn’t been planning for, but now he wants it more than he wants anything else. “That’s a great fucking idea.”

Louis cocks an eyebrow back. “Literally.”

Harry’s got the best fucking boy in the world. “Love it when you out pun me.” He moves so Louis has room to wiggle out of his trousers, kicking them onto the floor beneath their feet.

“It’s not like it’s that hard,” Louis snarks as Harry smears lube over three fingers and wastes absolutely no time shoving one in.

Well, maybe shoving’s the wrong word. “It really is that hard,” Harry says, pushing his hips up against Louis’ as he wiggles his finger around a little bit before sliding a second one in, not nearly as slow as he normally does. They do have a reception to get to, after all.

“I’ve had harder,” Louis says, hands coming up to clutch at Harry’s shoulders. “You don’t need to do three.”

Harry probably doesn’t _need_ to do three, but he’s going to. He spreads his fingers out and crooks them a little, watching Louis’ eyes darken just that much more. Adding a third finger right now is probably a little too fast, but it keeps Louis from complaining, turning his face into his own arm as he breathes through the stretch of it.

“Too much?” Harry asks, slowing down until he’s just rocking his fingers gently.

“No, just - ” Louis turns his head back and brushes their mouths together, spit slick and warm. “Wasn’t expecting it.”

“You should have been,” Harry says, brushing his fingers against Louis’ prostate and reveling in the way Louis moans and clenches down on him. He’ll never get tired of that feeling.

Louis huffs out a breath. “Harry, darling, don’t take this the wrong way, but if you don’t hurry up and fuck me I’m gonna leave you for a German porn star.”

“That’s oddly specific,” Harry says, but he picks up his pace anyway, working at getting Louis stretched. There’s a point at which Louis tends to get a little huffy when he wants to get fucked, and that point is never far enough in for Harry to really be satisfied with the job he’s done, but he hasn’t hurt Louis yet, at least not in a way that Louis doesn’t like.

“Have to be specific with you,” Louis says, digging his nails into Harry’s back. “Who knows what kind of bullshit you’d come up with if I wasn’t.”

Harry pulls his fingers out just in time to avoid Louis yelling at him and adjusts Louis’ legs before he lines up his cock and starts pushing in, leather of the seats creaking underneath them. It’s nowhere near the most confined place that they’ve had sex - maintenance closets in venues all over the world have seen more their fair share of Harry’s naked arse - but it’s still a tight fit.

In more ways than one.

It’s immediately hard not to cave under the pressure and just start fucking Louis wildly, fogging up the windows, regardless of whether Louis is ready for it or not. This is his _spouse_. This is the man he’s married to underneath him right now, full of Harry’s cock.

“You married me,” Harry murmurs, letting one of Louis’ legs slip in order to brush his hair off of his face, curl around his jaw and tug him close enough to kiss, soft and sweet. Louis’ mouth is always so plush and inviting, and Harry can never get enough of it, so they spend a couple minutes just snogging lazily, barely moving otherwise.

All thoughts of that reception that they need to get to have all but left Harry’s mind.

“You married me back,” Louis says, working open a few of the buttons on Harry’s shirt, the ones that he’d decided to button up. He runs his hand down Harry’s abs, deliberately tickling, and Harry fucking hates it when he does that when they’re fucking.

Still, skin to skin sounds like a really nice idea, so Harry returns the favour, opening Louis’ shirt and hauling him up in a proper screwing position before moving, using his mouth a little too sharply on Louis’ throat, if the way he whimpers is any indication.

“I put a ring on it,” Harry says. He doesn’t need to look at Louis’ face to know the way he’s trying to bite back a smile and mostly failing.

“Signed the papers and everything,” Louis sighs, sounding very pleased with himself. “No way out of it, now.”

Harry has papers waiting to be taken home and filed that say that this boy is his. This is the best day of Harry’s life. He thrusts in deep, aiming for Louis’ prostate on every thrust, and maybe he doesn’t hit it _every_ single time, but it’s close enough that Louis isn’t even capable of talking, anymore. He’s just whimpering with his eyes half closed, lower lip caught between his teeth, cheeks pink and scratching welts into Harry’s back.

God. Louis is probably a couple of good thrusts away from coming all over himself. Harry’s never one to say no to that gorgeous view, so he keeps going, biting at his own lip to distract himself from how good Louis feels.

“Got myself a beautiful boy,” Harry tells Louis’ throat, scraping his teeth over pink skin gently. “Gonna be stuck with me for the rest of your life, baby, gonna love you for the rest of your life.”

Louis makes a soft, barely there noise and says Harry’s name over and over as he comes, clenching down around Harry’s cock so tight that Harry can’t stop his own orgasm, riding it out with tiny little thrusts into Louis’ body.

Snogging some more sounds like the only realistic course of action after an orgasm like that. By the time Harry pulls out he’s limp and sleepy, could go for a quick nap. Louis lets him lie there for a few more minutes, breathing in tandem.

It’s peaceful right up until Louis says, “We really didn’t think this through.”

Harry makes an inquiring noise to Louis’ chest. It makes such a good pillow. “The come that’s gluing us together is easy enough to clean up, but I don’t want to be walking around with your come dripping out of my arse for the rest of the night.”

Mm. The thought of that has Harry’s mouth watering a little. He loves it when Louis does that at home, come trickling out of him as he does mundane things like wash the dishes or badgers Harry into making him tea even though he inevitably complains that it tastes weird. It always leads to round two. Or three. Or four.

Or five, that one really memorable night that Louis had let him use a scarf around his wrists.

Harry can see his point, though. It is their wedding day, after all, and the last thing they need is evidence of their indiscretion looming over them all night. They’re already going to get enough flack for taking so long as it is.

“You want me to get it out for you?” Harry asks. His voice deepens without his input.

What can he say. He has a thing for Louis’ arse.

“Don’t see how we have any other choice,” Louis grumbles, flicking one of Harry’s nipples as hard as he can. “Let me up.”

“Ow,” Harry complains, shifting so Louis can wiggle his way out from underneath him, even though he doesn’t see how that’s going to help with the whole getting his come out of Louis’ arse thing.

“Oh, poor baby,” Louis mocks, rubbing his thumb over the hurt. “You gonna live?” He shoves at Harry’s various body parts until Harry settles on the seats properly, leaning back, and then clambers awkwardly into his lap.

Oh. Now Harry sees where he’s going with this. “As long as you keep letting me finger you I will,” he murmurs, giving Louis a minute to shrug out of his jacket and shirt, leaving it to crumple on the floor and get comfortable before he slips two fingers back inside his bum, pressing right up against his prostate immediately.

“Oi, bastard, told you to get your come out of me, not try to _make_ me come,” Louis complains, pushing himself up a little, until he’s escaped the pressure.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, resisting the urge to press his fingers back into that spot as soon as Louis comes back down, full weight of him on Harry’s lap.

He can be good. Probably.

“Make it quick,” Louis orders, slumping bonelessly against Harry’s chest, the way he does when he’s actually tired and wants Harry to take care of him for a while.

“Yes, your highness,” Harry says, letting his fingers drift a little. There’s no point in denying that this is turning him on again - every other time Louis has let him do this it’s led to another round. His cock has been conditioned to expect it at this point.

The way Louis’ fingers clench in the material of Harry’s shirt doesn’t help any, either, like he needs Harry in him right now, no matter what part of him it is. Not to mention the fact that the view is outstanding - Louis’ back is smooth and toned, a clear shot straight down to his arse and Harry’s hand covering it but fingers obviously buried inside.

What Harry wouldn’t give for the chance to get a picture of this. He can make do with the ones Louis has sent him when they’ve been apart for a couple days and the image of this in his head, though.

He can’t resist the urge to pull his fingers out and see what happens, if any come will slip out with him. It does, leaking out of Louis’ hole slowly, gleaming in the light of the car. It’s one of the most attractive things Harry’s ever seen.

“You’re gonna get your own come onto your trousers and I’m gonna laugh,” Louis says sleepily, twisting in Harry’s arms a little. He doesn’t protest as Harry slips the fingers back into him, massaging him gently.

“Starting the rest of our lives out right,” Harry says, easing the come out of Louis’ body slowly. Some of it slips down his palm and down his wrist, ending up who knows where, and that should be at least a little bit disgusting.

It’s mostly just hot.

He resists the urge to gather it up and put it back inside Louis, and that should count for something. He tells Louis as much, only to get patted lightly on the side and shushed, like Louis actually thinks he’s going to be able to have a nap.

If Harry didn’t have three years worth of putting up with Louis waking him up at fuck o’clock in the morning and telling him that he has to be somewhere when really all Harry needs to do is roll Louis over and fuck him back to sleep, he might feel bad for bursting that bubble.

Don’t get him wrong, Harry is all about sex with Louis. He’d just like for more of that sex to happen at a time that isn’t an hour after he’s fallen asleep.

All too soon, Harry’s got no more excuse to be sitting there with two of his fingers stuffed into his husband’s arse, and, judging by the way Louis is shifting, he knows it too. Harry’s cock can’t decide whether it wants to get hard again or not, lying against his thigh, underneath Louis’ warm, comforting weight.

“We really gotta go, baby,” Harry murmurs, keeping his voice low in case Louis has decided to break the agreement they made a couple weeks ago and slap Harry even though it’s their wedding day.

Harry’s part of the agreement had involved making Louis come twice and then making him breakfast in bed. It hadn’t really been a hardship.

“Might have to take your fingers out of my arse if we’re going to do that,” Louis says. “Can’t be walking around for the rest of my life with you up my arse.”

Harry slips his fingers out of Louis’ hole and flexes them a few times. “Could if you let me make that Clone-a-Willy thing.”

“Yeah, because _that_ wouldn’t end badly at all,” Louis snorts, nearly tipping himself out of Harry’s lap as he leans over and roots through a pile of stuff, clearly looking for something in particular. Harry holds onto his hips almost absently, keeping him from braining himself on the sharp edge of the door handle.

“I wouldn’t _lose it_ , Louis, come on,” Harry says. Louis pops back up with a box of wet wipes and a stick of deodorant, humming to himself as he opens up the package of wipes.

“You would totally lose it,” Louis says happily, pulling a couple out and handing them to Harry before leaning back, nearly toppling over again.

Harry raises an eyebrow at him. “Not your slave.”

“Uh, pretty sure that’s what you agreed to when you married me,” Louis says. “And it’s not like you’re really going to pass up a chance to touch me when I’m naked, so get on with it.”

He’s not wrong, so Harry goes about cleaning him up the best that he can, until he’s come-free and substantially less sticky. It’s only a little bit sad.

Harry’s going to cover him in come again at least once more before the night is through, though, so he tosses the wipes to the ground and cleans himself off much less thoroughly. Getting their clothes back on is much harder than getting them off was, and Harry nearly takes a foot in the face at least three times.

They manage eventually, and just before Louis goes to climb out of the car, Harry catches him by the arm and eels him back in, just for a second. “I love you and I’m so glad that you decided to marry me.”

Louis’ smile is brilliant. “I love you and I’m glad you decided to marry me too.”

 

They’ve only been at the reception for twenty minutes before Zayn points out the stain on Harry’s trousers, just barely hidden by the length of his suit jacket, smirk on his face. The boys make endless jokes about it for the rest of the night, each one a little bit more inappropriate than the last.

Harry’s never had a better day in his entire life.

The three rounds of sex that him and Louis have when they finally get to the hotel that night doesn’t hurt, either.

Plus Louis snaps an hour into the reception and slaps Harry right in the face. The pool had been at €2368 and Harry wins _all of it_.

Of course, Harry donates it to a charity that Louis sends him the link to, but that’s beyond the point.

_Best day ever_.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://crazyupsetter.tumblr.com/)


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